


In the second house on the left

by melodiousb



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types, The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
Genre: French Revolution, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodiousb/pseuds/melodiousb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chauvelin had made a name for himself with his determination and persistence, and they had stood him in good stead even as he was soundly outwitted by the Pimpernel more times than he cared to think about. But for this attempt he was making use of a different quality, one almost foreign to his nature: forbearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the second house on the left

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/gifts).



Chauvelin made careful note of the address, of the dingy bakery on the house's left and the 'To Let' sign in the window of the narrow building on the right. Then he knocked twice, paused, and knocked again before opening the door and stepping inside. 

When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that the room was not empty. A heavily pregnant young woman, her face gray with layers of dirt, was seated on a table in the corner, knitting. She jerked her head towards a hallway leading toward the back of the house. This accorded with the instructions he had received, so he nodded his thanks and left the room. 

His disguise, then, had passed its first test. The young woman had seen a man of a type she expected to see. His dyed hair, trim moustache, and the gaunt face that had taken weeks of self-deprivation would see him through to the next, much greater, challenge. 

He waked to the back of the house, found the door at the northeast corner of the room, and knocked. Twice, a pause, and twice more, this time. He opened the door and descended the stairs into a cellar, fairly clean but damp, and smelling of earth and stone. The woman he found here was Vicomtesse de la Haye, as he had suspected. She had her two sons with her. The younger, aged six, cuddled closer to his mother as Chauvelin descended the stairs. The elder, who was ten, if Chauvelin remembered correctly, was standing next to his mother with one hand on her shoulder. He looked ready to defend his family from threats, if not actually capable of doing so. The Vicomte was not there, and there was some doubt as to whether he would be able to join them. His apartments were closely watched, under Chauvelin’s own orders.

“Excuse me, madame,” he said, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the low ceiling. “I apologize for the interruption, but I believe we are here for the same purpose. My name is Verteuil.”

“If you are here for the same reason as we are, you are very welcome,” she said. My name is de la Haye.”

“I know the name,” Chauvelin replied. “And my I extend to you my condolences on the sad death of your brother at the hands of the rabble?”

The Vicomtesse pulled her two sons closer. “You may, and I give you my thanks.”

That was the second test successfully passed. The instructions Chauvelin had received had been correct. His intended fellow escapee had accepted him. The third test was going to be the hardest, but that was all Chauvelin knew about it. He seated himself on the ground and began, not for the first time in his life, to wait for the Scarlet Pimpernel to appear.

Chauvelin had made a name for himself with his determination and persistence, and they had stood him in good stead even as he was soundly outwitted by the Pimpernel more times than he cared to think about. But for this attempt he was making use of a different quality, one almost foreign to his nature: forbearance. In thinking over his past failures, he had realized that some of them might have been mitigated if he used his encounters with the Pimpernel to inform himself better, instead of trying to capture Sir Percy every time he laid eyes on him. This, then, was an information-gathering excursion. Chauvelin had taken on the identity of a well-known but insignificant bachelor he has imprisoned some weeks ago, and negotiated a passage to England with the Pimpernel’s band. He would make his Pimpernel aided escape as Verteuil, shed his disguise, and return to France to make use of whatever he learned.

The escape was planned for the following day, but around ten that evening, Chauvelin heard a step on the floorboards above. The de la Hayes were dozing, the two boys curled up against their mother. Chauvelin tensed and waited. The knock he had used earlier -- two raps, a pause, and two more -- sounded on the door above, and was soon followed by a man, sillhouetted against the faint light coming from above. Chauvelin did not move.

“Clémence?” said the silhouette. “Auguste?”

“Papa!” said one of the boys. Chauvelin nodded to himself. He was chagrined that the Vicomte had escaped his agents, but not entirely surprised. Satisfied, he curled up as comfortably as he could against the cold cellar wall and prepared to get what sleep he could.

He could not tell what woke him, later, but everything seemed the same -- the faint glimmers of light, the family curled in the corner. But no -- there was a scrap of paper at his feet.

When you hear a bell ring above, exit the house by the back door. Turn left. A carriage will await you at the exit to the alley.

Chauvelin woke the de la Hayes, and he and they waited with bated breath, fearful of missing the signal. Finally it came, a faint chime, and then a louder one. The five of them stole silently up the stairs and out the door. The carriage, which pulled up at the entrance to the alley at the same moment as they did, was rickety, and barely large enough for their party. Chauvelin sighed with mixed relief and regret when he climbed in and found the carriage empty.

The Vicomte climbed in after him, then gave an odd little whistle,, and the carriage started off. Chauvelin, unprepared, was flung to the floor, and by the time he reseated himself, they were well on their way -- not, he was beginning to suspect, to Calais.

“The Vicomtesse and her sons took a second carriage,” said his companion.

“And their father?” 

“In that same carriage.”

“You traded places during the night.”

“Indeed,” said Sir Percy Blakeney, with an ironical smile. “You’re such a refreshing conversationalist, my dear Chauvelin. I had quite looked forward to watching you puzzle that out over the course of some hours. Whatever shall we do now to pass the time?”

“Where are you taking me?” asked Chauvelin. One advantage, at least, of his many run-ins with Sir Percy was that he had learned to maintain his equanimity in the face of disaster. 

“Oh,” said Sir Percy, “any place our coachman wishes to take us, I suppose. Any place that takes a full day to reach, anyway. I can’t have you interfering with those nice de la Hayes again.”

Chauvelin clenched his teeth. Sir Percy smiled. “Whatever shall we find to talk about?” he asked. He peered at Chauvelin through an eyeglass he had produced from somewhere. “I believe I have expressed, on another occasion, my feelings on your cravat. It has not improved.” His smile was guileless, but Chauvelin knew far better than to trust it.

“Ah,” said Sir Percy. “I’m sure I can think of quite a few things to say pertaining to your shoes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was really taken with your idea of Marguerite and Percy going back to rescue Chauvelin, but I couldn't quite see it happening with them as willing participants, so I came around to this. Happy Yuletide!


End file.
